


The Way Out

by yulls9



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (Domestic) Fluff, (a little of) POV Aziraphale (I guess), Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, First Kiss, Getting Together, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulls9/pseuds/yulls9
Summary: Aziraphale finds a song that reminds him of Crowley, so he takes the last step and breaks into his place. And a little about them being at Mayfair.Based on the lyrics of “Heart Beat Here” by Dashboard Confessional.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23
Collections: AwakeTheSnake





	The Way Out

“You should sort them by the color of the books’ covers.”

“Why is that?”

“Why not? Couldn’t be more chaotic.”

“Won’t happen.”

So, Aziraphale was up to reorganization the shelves by the color of the books’ covers. Not a word about it leaves no chances to find a book because one book has various covers in various publications. He sorted them by the color and the epoch — his policy wasn’t this crazy, after all.

He did really believe they needed one, especially after Adam’s reboot when he found collections of modern prose he strongly disapproved. And it wasn’t just about to organize and to order the shelves — it was about rearranging the entire bookshop.

Since the beginning, Crowley chose feeling over thinking. His heart stayed the same all the time — same kind, pure, and open. It stayed free of cold logic and things that just seem right. He knew what he _emotionally_ wanted for himself. He did not need epiphanies and a long way to finding himself. So, the only thing left is changing his appearance. And he really enjoyed it — every time he discovered more and more matching things which were not available in early times for obvious reasons.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, knew what he wanted _materially_ — stability and something to do. He wasn’t much into thinking either — he just couldn’t follow his heart. And he had to find a way to it. But for a person seeking for stability, he had inner transformations too often. Maybe it was the reason why he wanted things around him to stay the same. When you are in constant changing of yourself, you don’t have the strength to risk possibly losing a good old and getting a bad new. It is not another try to maintain peace and order coming out of his stubbornness. It is a try to keep the only stable things he actually has — things he can control. ‘Cause we can’t control the delicate thing that our soul is, can we? The only question was how much a good old was good for new him?

Soho was the first thing the sun met. The last thing the sun touch was Mayfair.

Aziraphale didn’t sleep. He always meant it as a waste of time. Another reason was that Crowley slept at night. He got accustomed to caring about him from a distance, didn’t he?

If you are immortal and don’t have a lot of things to do, it’s a good idea to start cleaning up a bookshop around 7 a.m. And it never was a little clean. He looked through the books, re-read his favorite parts, considered whether he needed a book or not carefully, and put into “Charity” or “Library” boxes those of them he was no longer agree.

Once Aziraphale had a good guess about Crowley was good at visual information. He didn’t read because he simply couldn’t focus on words. He spent too much time and energy for what — to get wrong ideas and feelings alien from his? It really exhausted him. Besides, he never liked it when people tried to make him think in a certain way. He loved to discover things on his own — to learn what he considered truthful and important and to make his own opinion about things.

So, Aziraphale bought some books with pictorial reproductions of masterpieces of art like Van Gogh’s or Claude Monet’s paintings like the ones he had about space. And when Crowley found something he loved, he could get all needed information like name, date, and a little about the painting, the story of its creation, the artist and their style — short and precise instead of long and abstract discourse leading to nowhere in fact. He smiled warmly at one of the books opened on the page about “Under the Wave, off Kanagawa” on his table.

He could spend hours messing with various memorable little things and souvenirs. He was generous with his time tying up with burgundy string all the messages he got from Crowley. He liked to go through sketches of famous artists and writers and stocks of papers with notes about the grammar of languages.

Some things they had were really rare and unique. No doubt no one else has such a classy collection of dark shades Crowley got every decade what, in fact, can make up a fine example of how fashion and style have been changing throughout the times.

Crowley didn’t even need to do his demonic work being Satan’s ambassador to offer to sell one’s soul because fans would give it themselves if they knew he had a napkin with the very first version of “You’re My Best Friend” on it when he, blushing, was taking it in a bar. _What the f-Freddie?_ _Stop writing songs about my lo-ife._

Following the sun and finishing touches to do on the shelves, he decided that vinyl records needed some attention as well. Those that were scattered around the bookshop by customers he put together next to the chestnut box with ones loved by Crowley by its content or design leaving his sorting way untouched. His favorite melodies, by the way, were in the same place. God knows who of them started it.

Some records were new. Some even weren’t bebop. So he decided to listen to all of them. And he was not very sure if they even really existed on vinyl — he pretty might have had a single version because they didn’t, and Adam wanted them to be, or Someone else wanted to give him a message.

Keeping most of them on the side, he took a single dated 2018 with blue and white cover and put it on.

_Come on home and let yourself heal_

_You could sleep for a thousand years_. “I’m setting the alarm clock for July. Goodnight, angel.”

_I won’t let you disappear_

He never did. Across time and space and distance, he has been living in his heart and his thoughts through memories and affection.

What’s for his corporeal form, he always wanted him to live. Maybe never for him, but for himself. _I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley_. _I can’t have you risking your life._ He always tried to keep him safe. Both from Heaven and Hell _._ Stealing from a church could, possibly, lead him to discorporation. And it was just one robbery for a little of water. What would have happened if they had known about _them_?

If they had figured it out, they would have pinned it entirely on Crowley. Hell would have been about rescuing angels instead of destroying them. Heaven would have been up to having a try to get what he doesn’t deserve to have. Yes, Aziraphale would have gotten “rude notes”, too. But punishment from good guys tends to not to be the real one in fact. Much worse is expected from Hell.

He could make sure of it at the trial where they put one of them into the water for no reason, but to check it’s real. But he didn’t change his mind about the first thing just because he didn’t know what was waiting for him was worse. Crowley didn’t say. What was he supposed to say? You would have no chance to explain, no trial, and no last word? _So, what was for me?_ _Paperwork_. Lots of paperwork that he knew he hated the most. No matter how they annoyed him, he never wanted to destroy Aziraphale’s faith. Every time he blamed the system, he spoke in general. No examples. _It is wrong, but you should notice it yourself_.

Like Crowley always could sense Aziraphale in danger, Aziraphale sensed him and things happening around him, too. The difference between them was that Crowley _knew_ things would end badly while Aziraphale _hoped_ they wouldn’t. But he was more careful with it when it came to Crowley. Thus, he could feel him sleeping, and he was a guardian of his sleep every time he closed the eyes.

_Let your heart_ “You know I could hunker down

 _beat_ at your place.”

 _here_. “Out of the question.”

He frowned at his own response.

_You’ve been running far and wide_

Well, Crowley deserved some rest, after all. Armageddon. _We’re not friends_ and _We’re on opposite sides_ things. The burning down of the bookshop. Lockdown. Enough stress for one demon in a year, no?

And it was just one year of 6,000. Not to mention the Fall and getting used to Hell and other dark pages if not in his life then in humanity’s history. His life always was a fight. And he had to fight for everything in his life.

So, while nearly everyone is mad at 2020 for their frustrated plans, Crowley welcomes them to his world. Crowley really hated 2019. He knows that the current things are the damn consequences of the damn year when these things originally have started if not worldwide, then locally. No more.

He was aware of the consequences, but he didn’t expect them actually. He expected it would end up with the end of the year and waited for the new decade with high hopes. So, yeah, he was damn mad that this bloody thing had been dragging on.

Sure, the last year brought him closer to Aziraphale than he had ever been, but it turned out to be just another little step. Things kept being the same. He thought it would allow him to see him more often, at least. And it had had until the lockdown-consequence hit him. How dare you to say keep a distance to a demon who has been keeping it for 6,000 years now? _So, keep a distance, people_. _Keep a dis’tance_. He repeated hissing through his teeth. That was the last straw.

A feeling of the good year didn’t trick him in fact. The beginning of 2020 brought things back to normal. Normal was fine for a start. And he truly believed it would be much better just as soon as lockdown ends.

_Doing what you hope is right_. “We have to work together. We can do something. I have an idea.”

_Chasing what you feel inside_. “I’ll give a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

_I will take your path as mine_

I’ll share your sufferings. I’ll share your story. I’ll share your love.

The entire Aziraphale’s existence was created to love. To love the entire existence of Crowley. Every cell in his body was desperately trying to make him hear it.

Goosebumps came out all over him.

_I feel it in my ribs_

All the time his ribs have been trying to hold back his heart beating its way out to Crowley and seeking to be closer to him. Yes, just like Queen always sung about.

_Feel it in my soul_

The feeling he had looking him messing with old journals, turning the pages loudly on Purpose, or vinyl records on the floor of the bookshop.

The feeling he had when pollen of a blossom had fallen from a near tree to Crowley’s face while they were walking in Kew Gardens a few months ago, before the Events. He flicked it away running his thumb over his nose and cheeks and noticing his almost visible freckles. Crowley wrinkled his nose under the touch and smiled slightly and softly. Aziraphale never was this close before and never was close too often to notice this his move, so he wasn’t sure about its meaning. He knew he didn’t mind, but knowledge told him it might be a frown — it is bad sometimes to know too much. Later he’ll figure out that he does it with his nose only when he really likes something, and he doesn’t when frowns at all. He raised his eyes to meet his tender look. He leaned forward him slightly as soon as “ _Over there! Maybe it is here”_ stopped him. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. But in the very next moment, he smiled, noticing that Crowley did just the same throwing his head back. _It must have been an apple tree_. He said when they kept going to cheer him up. What on earth could be better and more cheerful than an apple tree? _Mmhm_. He lovingly replied because he had not a lot of moments like these to spend them in sorrows. To be precise, he had no moments like these.

The feeling he had when a delivery man had a parcel for him with cinnamon rolls from his favorite bakery nearby. _AC_ made in perfect italics was written on the box. He would never know what exactly did _A_ stand for, but he knew it had been written by his hand. Of course, by his hand. And, of course, it was a pure coincidence that the name he had chosen had the same letter in a short form. Obviously.

_The pulse just grows_

Along with his lungs got used to the periodical lack or absence of oxygen, his heart used to barely beating sometimes.

_So loud and so clear_

In those days it was too loud to not pay much attention to it and too obvious to deny.

_Let your heart beat here_

_Let your heart beat here_

_Winters come to take me away_

_I wear my ring to know what’s at stake_

He looked at his pink gold ring unwittingly, followed by a mysterious force of Music. Did he really fight for him to be away from him?

_And when the days work at their own pace_

_You remain my time and place_

For always. Endless and Eternal.

He still was drawn to him notwithstanding all restrictions and fears and sides. Through time and space, the only place where he truly wanted to be was to be with him.

He wept.

_I feel it in my ribs_

_Feel it in my soul_

_The pulse just grows_

_So loud and so clear_

_Let your heart beat here_

Suddenly, he realized with bitter that he was the only reason why Crowley wasn’t here and why he wasn’t there with Crowley. It was him who did get in his way.

_So loud and so clear_

_Let your heart beat here_

Crowley was more about taking the first steps. And with his first steps, a quite good path could be paved — a path 6,000 years in length.

_Yeah, let your heart beat here_

But he could take the last one. One quote of Victor Hugo popped in his head, though he didn’t share with him the first part — the first steps matter.

_We found our way past our youthful fears_

“But if Hell finds out, they won't just be angry — they'll destroy you. _”_

“It would destroy you.”

“It will destroy you completely.”

“Do you know what trouble I'd be in if... if they knew I'd been...?”

His words were running in his head. It always was about his fears. He meant Crowley as strong and brave and daring. He was right in fact. After sauntering downwards, discorporation is likely not to be a big deal.

Though Aziraphale didn’t know he had one fear — losing Aziraphale. In any way possible. Crowley did care about saving his corporeal form, too. If he loses one, he doesn’t get another. It could be the reason why he truly wanted to save the world. The Earth was the only place where he could be with him. He meant Alpha Centauri as an option, but did he really believe he would choose this way? So, drunk in the bar, he laments deeply his being a demon because, as he thought, Aziraphale won’t find the way out of Heaven as well as he will never find a way Upstairs. He would never talk to him, never see him, and never be with him ever again. Nothing else could make him care. Nothing else could hurt him. Nothing else could hurt him more when Aziraphale himself was the exact reason of it pushing him away.

_And fought our way through the pain and tears_

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

“And when I'm off in the stars, I won't even think about you!”

“There is no our side, Crowley. It's over.”

“I can't find you! You've gone.”

_And we drove our stakes in the place most dear_

“You don't have a side any more. Neither of us do. We're on our own side.”

_And let our hearts beat_

“Do you think they'll leave us alone now?”

_I feel it in my ribs_

_Feel it in my soul_

He looked at the coach where Crowley spent the entire evening one the last time before the lockdown.

_The pulse just grows_

He could clearly see him.

_So loud and so clear_

He could hear his sincere and loud laugh in his head.

He was so pure.

_Let your heart beat here_

Aziraphale smiled softly.

_So loud and so clear_

_Let your heart beat here_

Throughout the song he meant it to say to Crowley, but he thought it would be fair if Crowley said it to him. Actually, it would be much fairer if Crowley said it. _Let me in._ _Or let yourself in._ And the fact that he found some similarities between Crowley’s and the front man’s voices didn’t help him at all.

_Yeah, let your heart beat here_

The stroke sounded like an assurance for him. He remembered his words.

_Let your heart_ “You can stay

 _beat_ at my place

 _here_ if you like.”

Crowley felt the warm touch on his cheek.

His heart melted, seeing him peacefully sleeping in his bed. It was a gorgeous one with the darkest of blue linens with lots of pillows and comforters. The entire bloody IKEA worked for his bedroom. But among blue and white and maroon pillows was the only one he always slept on. Aziraphale looked at his jacket and lovingly smiled at the fact it was the same shade of beige. He did buy or miracle it — no one knows. With all these colors and layers he himself reminded a galaxy or a star he helped to build.

“Aziraphale,” he smiled softly in his sleep.

He ran the back of his fingers over his temple.

His heart started beating too fast woke him up. With his eyes closed and a faint smile of what he took for a dream, he sat up. Trying to upload the reality, he felt a fond look at him. He slowly turned his head to the left and met his eyes.

“Morning, my dear.”

“You’re here,” he said with hope.

“I am. And I am sorry for breaking in like this to your bedroom and waking you up.” Crowley was affectionately watching his every move and word. Staring was what he called watching. He added frowning and lecturing him more for show than for serious, “It is very rude of me.”

“You don’t think so,” he smiled, grinning. A wily look in his eyes changed. So, when Aziraphale gave him a look, it was tender once again.

“Ah! Almost forgot.” Aziraphale looked away with a shy smile. “I have something for you,” he added with another brief smile glancing at him. Crowley kept following him. “It reminded me of you so much, so I bought it. Would you give me your hand, please?” He reached out with his palm downward. Aziraphale gently turned it over. “And it’s stylish. You’re a big stylish fan, aren’t you? I thought you might like it,” he was going on wrapping around his fine wrist a beautiful pink gold chain that glittered in the evening sunlight. “So, what do you feel?” He looked at him hopefully.

“Love this.” His glance remained on the chain for a while, so he could see Aziraphale, unknowingly, took his fingers. He ran his finger over his, looking up.

Aziraphale made the slightest move forward.

He couldn’t touch or kiss him first — he was sure he still could mind it. But he could close the distance when Aziraphale decided it was time for him to move.

He met his lips on the half-way.

Kissing softly and slowly, parting and going back to kissing, gliding over each other’s lips, Crowley cupped his check running his fingers over his jowl.

“I love you so much, my dear,” he left another light kiss on his forehead and looked right into his eyes.

“I love you, too, angel.”

“Oh, come here.” He pulled him closer, holding him tight.

His heart contracted every time Crowley pressed closer to or nuzzled him. Finally, he could spend the rest of his everlasting life in a place where he had been always sought to and wanted to be — in Aziraphale’s arms.

“Would you mind terribly if I stay with you here and cook in your kitchen? Maybe for you?”

He chuckled lovingly and put his head on his shoulder.

“Please, _it_ is all yours.”

“Wanna go out for dinner?”

“Do you want to sleep a little more?”

They asked at the same time, and both smiled.

“No.”

“I don't. But I heard we could order takeout.”

“We can,” he caressed his back and squeezed him.

Aziraphale spent a whole evening sitting on the bed and eating with one hand and holding Crowley with another, giving him some pieces he agreed to have. He bent his knee and put the box on it, so Aziraphale didn't have to reach for it.

“It's definitely better. Thank you.”

Crowley spent a whole evening sitting between his legs, with his head thrown back and resting on his shoulder, holding his arm, nuzzling into his neck, and listening about the cakes he baked the things he made the burglars he tried to lead down the right path.

“Aren't you cold? It's quite frosty.”

“No.” He ran his nose over his neck. “But guess I'll steal all the blankets at night. 'm just telling you.”

He laughed, holding him tighter. “Take _it_ all,” he said, whispering to his ear and then kissing his smiling face.

“I will be right here when you wake up.” Aziraphale lay right in front of him on a pillow looking in his eyes.

“Try to sleep,” he replied compassionately. “Maybe you like this time.”

“Maybe.” A brief smile passed over his lips — a smile he gave just to be polite when he accepted one’s point of view but let to know he didn’t share it. He knew he really could like sleeping this time, but he didn’t want to check it out with the express purpose.

He knew Aziraphale didn't sleep. Aziraphale couldn't sleep. He tried several times, and, when he woke up and felt even worse and more tired than he had been before, he promised to never do it again. Though he didn't know he could sleep next to Crowley. His warmth, his breath on his skin, feeling him in his arms, and the moments when he pressed closer to him through his dreams from time to time lulled him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading. I hope you loved it.
> 
> I apologize for possible mistakes — I am not a native speaker.
> 
> Well, I suppose it's references time now:
> 
> 1 _He was generous with his time tying up with burgundy string all the messages he got from Crowley_ I meant [a part](https://twitter.com/neilhimself/status/1157068284736548865) that Neil had shared on his twitter.
> 
> 2 _Yes, just like Queen always sung about._ I am talking about a certain stroke in "One Year of Love" though the entire song is related. Actually, most of their songs is related.
> 
> 3 _One quote of Victor Hugo popped in his head, though he didn’t share with him the first part — the first steps matter._ It is surely the "The first step is nothing, it is the last which is difficult."
> 
> Also you may like some other works of mine about [the 2nd day of the rest of their lives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20135389) and [a man trying to flirt with Aziraphale in front of Crowley](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20337586). And there is [Aziraphale's love letter to Crowley](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21768430) over here.
> 
> The work [on tumblr](https://ottotheoctopus9.tumblr.com/post/622430715825586176/the-way-out)
> 
> God bless you! All Love.


End file.
